


orange skies

by elinciacrimea



Series: heritors [3]
Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, F/F, Family, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mid-Canon, Multi, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-23 04:48:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19691065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elinciacrimea/pseuds/elinciacrimea
Summary: Short stories set in the "Heritors" universe. Updates whenever inspiration strikes!





	1. promises to keep - palla/minerva, sonya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Palla and Sonya remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This makes references to the events of "Phoenixflame," but can be read without reading that. There's just one particular exchange that won't make total sense if you've only played the vanilla game!

The Whitewings gathered on the rooftop of Castle Macedon in the dead of night, a meeting clandestine and secretive as the mission being deployed. The only sounds were their own voices, and the thump-thump-thump of Palla's heart against her ribs.

Minerva's brow was drawn tight despite her smile, fear pressing through despite her attempts to keep a brave face for all their sakes. For Palla's sake.

Palla couldn't stop looking at her, but she couldn't seem to speak, either.

"Don't you worry about a thing, okay?" The voice was small, but strong and clear as Palla looked down at the white-clad speaker. "I'll protect her while you're gone. Nobody'll get past me!" Maria, too, wore a gentle smile, but that same tense crease existed around her eyes. Two sisters, so alike, hiding their pain.

Est would, too.

The thought sent another stab through Palla's heart, but she tried not to let it show. "Of course, dear. We're counting on you."

"Honestly." Minerva shook her head. "One would think that I lost all ability to heft my axe the moment the crown rested on my temples."

"No, it just made you a bigger target." Catria swung her arms anxiously, gaze darting between them and the sky. Her body was tense with anticipation. Eager to depart, to find Est.

Palla couldn't delay any longer. A part of her wanted to, and the other part was already soaring across the sea, towards Valentia, tearing through any obstacles in her way. And a third part was humming that it might already be too late, too late, _too late -_

"Why don't we give you two a minute alone?" Maria suggested brightly.

"What?" Catria blinks. "Oh - oh yeah, good idea. C'mon, Maria, you should say goodbye to the pegasi - " Both younger sisters hurried off.

And then it was just the two of them, Palla and her queen, her liege, her love, illuminated by the stars.

Palla took a deep breath. "Commander - "

"We're alone enough to drop titles, aren't we?" Minerva asked.

"Certainly." Palla knew her smile shook. "Minerva."

"That's far better." Minerva half-lifted her arms, and Palla stepped into them, cradling her head between Minerva's neck and shoulder, breathing her in.

"I hate leaving you to fight this battle alone," Minerva mumbled into the top of Palla's head.

Palla huffed out a laugh against Minerva's collarbone. "Really, now? That's my line."

"But it is true." Minerva held her a little tighter. "I wish nothing more than to accompany you on this journey. To somewhere entirely unknown, beyond my reach…"

"I will never be beyond your reach," said Palla, knowing it was a lie.

"I cannot leave Maria to play this game of politics alone," Minerva continued. "And yet it tears my heart to let you and Catria be flung into such danger, and to know I cannot protect you."

"Then imagine how I feel." Palla's voice shook. "Who will protect _you_ with us gone?"

"Maria will, didn't you hear her?" Minerva laughed, but it was as hollow as Palla's earlier chuckle. "I shall be fine, Palla. Armor or no, the queen of Macedon will not break as easily as my opponents might think. Besides, this is a land of peace. It is you who will be fighting pirates and slavers and the gods know what else - "

"Then we can agree that we are both concerned," said Palla. She drew back, looking at Minerva's face in the moonlight. Shining, glorious, marked by battle scars and the lines of grief and sorrow and joy.

Beautiful.

Palla wanted to immortalize her, freeze the image of her into her mind so it would never be lost, no matter how much time they were forced to spend apart.

But she feared it would not be enough.

\---

Even the nights here are warm and sticky, the air clogged with the foul steam rising up from the marsh. Palla sighs as she sits down in the slight shade of a dry, dead tree. Everything in Eastern Rigel is dry and dead, down to the people - hollow skeletons with dull eyes, trying to pry a livelihood from empty, poison-riddled earth.

A terrible place. The desert had been bad enough, with sands that made Palla think of a city of magic, of ruins with dark sorcerers creeping in the shadows...but this toxic, tainted land is worse, far worse.

There is something _wrong_ with Valentia. Palla can't put words to it, but she'd spoken with Catria and Est about it, and they agreed with her, even as they too had been unable to explain that apprehensive, discomforting sensation. From the moment their feet touched Zofian soil, they'd felt it, and here in Rigel it was just as strong. Perhaps it was simple unfamiliarity, but there was a sinister edge lurking in that wrong-footed sensation. Something is lurking here, something that has seeped into the soil and the trees and the very land itself.

At least Est is safe, no longer alone and captive in this strange world. Palla hadn't realized it until they were reunited, but from the moment they'd found Est's home empty to the moment they'd caught her in their arms at the Citadel...it had been as though someone had stuffed Palla's ears with steel wool, strapped weights to her back, blindfolded one eye. Palla had been hindered by the loss of her sister, as badly as she would have been if she'd lost an arm or leg. But now her senses are sharp again, as finely honed by battle's edges as she's used to them being, and she no longer feels as if she's fighting her way forward underwater. Only that she's fighting her way through a foreign land with frightening terrain and foes more frightening still.

Palla fiddles with a cord around her neck as she looks up at the stars overhead. The skies, at least, are the same as Archanea's. Perhaps they are the only thing that is, in this land of witches and gods walking the earth and no wyverns and hardly any pegasi…

...still, the moon above her is smooth and round, and perhaps Minerva can see it too, and Palla wishes that thought brought her more comfort than it did.

Minerva is alone, alone after that terrible war, when peace had only just begun to settle Archanea in a warm embrace. Everything that had happened, with the king and with Michalis and Maria, and Minerva has to deal with all of that fallout, alone…

Palla wants to go back. She wants it so badly it makes her chest ache at the very thought of it. But she owes Celica a debt, and besides, she doesn't wish to abandon the girl. Celica is walking a path where she needs all the allies she can get. And she is so compassionate, and so very young, only about Est's age...no, Palla cannot return to Macedon, not yet, despite the yearning that burns in her gut.

"Dame Palla, is it?"

Palla starts and twists her head to see the speaker. A violet-haired woman in red robes, drawing a dark cloak around her shoulders…"Ah, Sonya?"

"Keeping watch?" Sonya asks, taking a seat next to her. She sits on the dusty earth like it's a throne, and Palla finds herself straightening her own posture.

"Yes. And you?"

"Ah, you know." Sonya shrugs, which isn't really an answer, but Palla decides not to pry. "I hope I am not intruding?"

"No, no. Actually, I am glad to see you," says Palla. "I never properly thanked you for protecting - no, for saving - my sister."

"You did, actually." A smile crosses Sonya's lips. "Quite a few times. While sobbing, and clasping my hand."

"Ah." Palla feels her face heat. "I'm afraid I...don't recall that." That day is a blur of terror and joy and unending relief.

"Well, I promise it is the truth. Your sisters dragged you off me eventually."

"R...regardless, allow me to thank you once more." Palla bows her head. "I am truly in your debt."

"Don't mention it." Sonya tilts her head up towards the sky. "I've no regrets for my actions."

Palla isn't certain what else to say. She plucks at the cord around her neck.

"Est is doing well, then?" Sonya asks, breaking through the silence.

"She's always been very adaptable," says Palla, grateful for the given subject. "Her skills are a bit softened, and she needs to put some weight back on. But she's doing well, and she's cheerful as ever. I'm glad we were able to find her pegasus, as well. She'd have been devastated without it."

"Apparently none of Grieth's thugs could get near it, even the women." Sonya shakes her head. "But it was too valuable to dispose of. I'm glad they were reunited."

Palla wonders if Sonya had something to do with that, as well.

"I wondered…" Sonya tucks her hair behind her ear. "What is Archanea like?"

"It's a large continent, made of many nations," Palla answers. "All unique. You might as well ask what Valentia is like."

Sonya raises her brow, but she's smiling. "Well, where are you from, then?"

"Macedon," says Palla. "It is far to the south, a mountainous, forest-covered land, known for its prolific flying army. The people are strong and proud, known for their tenacity and courage. The capital lies in the kingdom's heartland, nestled by cliffs - a beautiful place, particularly from the sky, when it is lit orange by the sunset..." Palla abruptly realizes how much she has spoken, and trails off. Her throat and heart are burning.

"You miss it still."

"Of course," says Palla softly. "It is...the only place I have ever called home."

Sonya is silent.

"Please, do not misunderstand," says Palla hastily. "Much as I miss Macedon, I will remain with Lady Celica until her mission is complete."

"Oh, certainly. I fear you've rather seen the ugly sides of Rigel and Zofia on this journey, though."

"All countries have their ugly sides," says Palla. "Even...even Macedon. I know that well."

"Hm. I see."

"Actually…" Palla picks at the hem of her tunic. "I had a question for you as well."

"Ask away."

"Why did you do all you did to protect my sister?"

Sonya is silent for several long moments, and just as Palla begins to fear she may have overstepped, pushed too far, she sighs. "I would have done the same for any person in her situation, you understand. I wished for no innocents to perish at Grieth's hands."

"I see…"

"But I won't deny that I made a special effort to protect your sister." Sonya is staring off at the horizon, looking at something Palla can't see. "I suppose...I saw myself in her."

Palla did not expect that. "Your...yourself?"

"I know it may seem odd." A small smile curls across Sonya's lips. "But I was a very different person, as a child. Always in the shadows of my wise, mature...elder sisters."

"Ah…"

"Yes." Sonya doesn't look sad, just thoughtful. "I lost them a long time ago, when I was younger than Est. I was forced to grow up, to become wise...and cold. But Est spoke so highly of her big sisters, who always protected her, that she knew would come find her…she spoke of you often. How kind and gentle Palla was, how smart and strong Catria was...I wanted to reunite the three of you. In the way I can never be reunited with mine."

"I am…" Palla swallows. "I am terribly sorry."

"There is no need." Sonya still looks contemplative. "You will protect her, won't you?"

"Of course." Palla doesn't have to think. "To my dying breath. Both of them."

"Try to remember...without you and Catria, she will have nobody at all." Sonya traces a gloved finger through the dry earth below them. "You should value your life, as well. It would devastate them to lose you."

"I understand," says Palla softly. "I will."

"Good. I appreciate that." Sonya shifts, folding her legs underneath her with a sort of unconscious grace. "Now, what's that necklace you've been fiddling with? A gift from a lover, perhaps?"

Palla's hand flies to her throat. Sonya laughs softly, the sound echoing off the dead trees around them. "Well, you don't have to tell me. I was just curious, is all."

"It's all right…" Palla reaches for the thin cord, tugging it free of the neck of her armor. "There's...two necklaces, actually. A locket of my late mother...and this. It's...a token. From someone dear to me."

\---

Palla blinked, hoping the night hid her tears, and knowing it did not.

Minerva brushed away the wetness in her eyes with a tender hand. "Please, don't weep. This is not forever. You'll return, with both Catria and Est in tow, and our reunion will be a joyous one. Won't it?"

"Yes," Palla breathed, catching Minerva's hand and kissing it. "But - but you must promise me one thing."

"Anything at all."

"You must - when we return, you must be here waiting for me. Alive, and whole." Palla pressed Minerva's hand against her own face, cradling it. "Please."

"I promise it, so long as you promise in turn that all three of my Whitewings will fly to greet me."

"Yes," Palla whispered, knowing how empty a promise it was, and yet clinging to it as a drowning man with a lifeline. "I promise."

Minerva's smile was gentle, soft, tender. The rarest face of Macedon's unbreakable queen, of the fearless Crimson Dragoon, the kind of face very few living souls had ever seen. Palla could never consider herself worthy and lucky enough to be among them.

"Here," said Palla, releasing Minerva's hand and reaching for her own throat. "A token, then. A seal of my promise." She unwound the orange-red scarf from her neck, and then stood up straighter to rest it over Minerva's shoulders.

The scarf was of the cheapest cotton, threadbare and worn down from its presence during countless battles, but Minerva's fingers brushed it as though it were Talysian silk. "You are certain?"

"Very much so." Palla gently knotted the scarf's ends. It rested atop Minerva's collar, looking quite shabby beside the queenly tunic. "You may return it to me when I come home to you."

"Then, in return…" Minerva paused for a moment, as if thinking, before reaching into her own collar and pulling free something that shone in the light. Palla took several seconds to comprehend, and then froze as Minerva unclasped the fine cord.

"But…" Palla's mouth felt dry as she swallowed. "Your mother's…"

"Yes." The green, teardrop-shaped gem glinted in the moonlight like Minerva's eyes. It was too dark to see, but Palla could still clearly picture every detail of the necklace, down to the small emblem of House Macedon imprinted on the upper part of the charm, connecting gem to cord. One of three, with no others of its kind in the world. "I entrust it to you, as you grant me yours."

"This is far more valuable than what I gave, is it not?"

"I don't see it as such." Minerva lifted the cord a little higher, and Palla bowed her head as Minerva reached to clasp it around her neck. "And I know you will keep it safe...and bring it back to me when this battle ends, and we are reunited. Am I wrong?"

"You are not." Palla straightened and rested a hand over the gem, warm from Minerva's skin. "Thank you."

"We should not delay much longer," said Minerva softly. She clasped both of Palla's hands in her own. "Yet I still do not wish to let you go."

"I feel much the same way," Palla admitted. "But...you are correct."

Their kiss was another promise, as gentle as the words they spoke to one another and as strong as the women who stood together in the night. 

A promise that Palla, for all her fear, intended to keep.

\---

"It's lovely," says Sonya, inspecting the shining green gem.

"Thank you." Palla tucks the talisman back under her collar. "I'm...keeping it safe for someone. However did you know it was from...a lover?"

"Well, call it an educated guess. Something in your face when you touched it." Sonya shrugs. "I'm good with people."

Palla keeps her fingers clasped over the place where the gem rests, warm against her chest, fluttering with her breath.

"Did you wish to talk about it?"

"I don't know what there is to say," says Palla softly.

"You can tell me about them, if you like. I'm certain you miss them."

"I do." Palla tightens her fingers. "Desperately."

"I don't mean to pry. I do admit to being a frightfully nosy person, though."

"No, it's...it's all right." Palla looks up at the stars - the stars that must be shining down on Minerva, too. "She was - _is_ \- my commander, my queen, my world. I cannot think of words that encompass her. She is beautiful, yes, and so strong, and so brave...and kinder, far kinder than she believes herself to be."

Sonya watches her, face unreadable.

"We've been by each others' sides for so many years, so rarely parted...and when we did, it was against our wills." Palla's throat nearly closes over as she thinks of those dark days in Grust. "To have left her by my own choice...it feels like the worst kind of betrayal. But I know she is waiting for me, and I - "

"You wish to go to her."

"I do. But I am needed here. I won't leave my duties behind." Palla swallows through a dry throat. "When it's over...my sisters and I, we'll all go home to her. Together."

"There's something familiar in your eyes," Sonya says quietly. "Perhaps even moreso than in Est's."

"What do you mean?"

"Ah, nothing. Don't mind me." Sonya's eyes lift up to the stars again. "Are you enjoying Valentia, despite the separation?"

"Well…" Palla struggles to think of a diplomatic answer. "As you said, I'm afraid I've only seen the land's uglier side."

Sonya's shout of laughter rings through the still, humid air. "You've certainly got that right."

"There's something...strange about this place," says Palla quietly. "Perhaps is the unfamiliarity, but…" She rests her palm flat on the ground. "I was trying to pin it down when you approached me, actually. It feels as though there's something...below us. Something feeding into the very earth…"

"Hm…" The smile has disappeared from Sonya's face. "Well, I feel nothing strange, but I've lived here all my life."

"We haven't talked about it much, but I believe my sisters agree with me," says Palla. "I don't know what it means, though."

"I have a few theories," Sonya mutters. 

"I've met some wonderful people here, though," says Palla quickly. "And it is not as though Archanea is without its flaws. It's just...there's something going on with the land itself here. And I cannot quite describe it."

"No, I agree with you," says Sonya. "Though I cannot feel it myself...there is something very wrong with Valentia. But...I feel if anyone can fix it...it is our young princess Celica."

Palla nods slowly. "She reminds me of a man I knew in Archanea. So young, so burdened...and so strong."

"Precisely." Sonya sighs. "A new world, with all these youngsters…"

"I'm looking forward to it."

"As am I," says Sonya. Her tone is wistful and gentle, and for the first time, she really does remind Palla of Est. "As am I. Let's live to see it, shall we?"

Palla watches the stars turn overhead. "Yes. Let's."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this 'verse, Palla does in fact have the locket with her mother's picture from her FE12 supports, but she's shown it to her sisters instead of keeping it secret, because I always just found that drama kind of strange /shrugs.


	2. where the light can't reach - delthea, luthier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delthea fights some demons, and isn't as alone as she thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one does not require reading anything else and stands just fine on its own!

Duma's dead.

Delthea should probably feel more proud. And she does, she does, but her stomach hurts and churns and she feels like she's going to vomit, and that's putting a real damper on her mood.

She thought it would get better, but it's just getting worse. Every battle, it happens, it hits her, and every time harder than the time before, and her head pounds and swirls and she can only see the monsters, the soldiers, charging her with weapons drawn and spells blazing. And she exploded them, and it was _super cool and awesome_ of her, and now it's all over, but…

...but she seriously thinks she's gonna be sick.

Delthea pulls away from the rush of celebrating bodies and rushes out of Duma's chamber, out into the big entrance hall where they'd made camp the night before. She rests against the far side of a pillar, taking deep breaths, her eyes sliding shut.

Duma's dead. They don't have to fight anymore. Delthea can just go live a nice, fun life in the capital, like a normal but exceptionally awesome girl. It's over, it's over, it's over…

No, it's not. It's _never_ gonna be over. Because Delthea has a _gift,_ and she has to use it, and if she doesn't use it nobody will think she's cool or powerful or special. They'll think she's all talk, a little girl trailing after the big kids, holding onto her brother's coattails…

Well, she's not! She's way stronger than dumb ol' Lu, anyway! Even if nothing she does is ever good enough for him, that doesn't change the fact that she's the one who can use Ragnarok, not that big nerd! So it doesn't matter, does it?

It does, though. It does. And Delthea loves using her magic, she loves it when people stare at her with awe-filled eyes, _so talented, she must work so hard…_

But she doesn't like fighting. It's hard to admit it. But Delthea doesn't like exploding people. Doesn't like watching them turn into puddles of blood and _worse_ at her feet.

She's done that enough times to be pretty sure of it by now.

"Delthea?"

Delthea freezes. That voice is the last sound she wanted to hear.

"Delthea? Oh, there you are. I wondered where you'd gotten off to." Luthier comes bustling out of the corridor into the entry hall. He bustles _everywhere._ Delthea's never seen the guy walk without bustling, not once in thirteen years.

"Here I am," says Delthea dully.

"I wasn't expecting you to be out here," says Luthier, not taking the hint, because of _course_ he doesn't, he's Luthier, and he wouldn't recognize a hint if it was written in big flashing letters on her forehead. "I thought you'd want to be soaking up all the praise and excitement."

"Is that a hint of jealousy I detect, brother dear?" Delthea asks, relieved at how lighthearted she sounds. "Green's an ugly color on you."

"No! I just…" Luthier sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I just wanted to ensure that you were all right. That's all."

"Well, I am. So there you go." Delthea crosses her arms. "You can go back to celebrating with all of your four friends now, okay?"

Luthier's brow furrows. _Oh no,_ Delthea thinks, _don't take this opportunity to start being perceptive…_ "You're certain you're well, Delthea?"

"I'm fine."

"You've been acting withdrawn lately," says Luthier, stepping closer. "I recognize that battles can be difficult places, especially for someone as young as you..."

"I don't know what you're talking about," says Delthea quickly. "Look, just leave me alone, okay?"

Luthier's frown deepens. _Wrong move, Delthea. Too aggressive. Now he's_ really _suspicious._ "Are you...shaking, Delthea?"

"No!"

Luthier lifts a hand towards her, and Delthea recoils, unable to prevent the look of panic in her eyes at the sudden movement into her space. Luthier pulls away as if burned.

"I'm fine!" Delthea chokes out. "I'm completely fine, okay? W-why are you acting so suspicious?"

"Delthea…"

"Everything's fine! I don't need any help, or anything - I'm tough, okay? Leave me alone!"

"What on earth are you - "

"Go away!" Delthea's hands curl into fists at her side. "Just _go away!"_

Luthier looks like she's slapped him. Silence falls in the entrance hall, thick enough that Delthea can hear the cheering from Duma's chamber echoing in the distance. It weighs heavy in Delthea's lungs, hot and hurting and she really does feel sick.

"...Delthea." Luthier's voice breaks that silence, softer than Delthea's ever heard it. "It's okay."

"It's _not_ okay! Nothing's okay! I'm sick of lying to everyone!"

"Lying to everyone?"

"I hate this!" Delthea bursts out, anger and fear clawing their way out of her and burning her chest as they go. "I hate it! I hate fighting, I hate blowing people up and ripping them apart and...I feel like there's always blood on my hands and I can't wash it off, I can't, and I dream about Terrors at night, and _I don't wanna do this anymore!"_

"You don't have to!" Fear has crossed Luthier's face, and he doesn't reach for her again, but there's something... _anguished_ in his eyes, and it makes the pain worse. "You _never_ had to, Delthea - this was your idea! You could leave! You can leave now, if you want. Duma's dead. We can go back to the village, or stay in the capital - whatever you want. It's _over,_ Delthea."

"No, it's not…" Delthea stares at the wall over Luthier's shoulder, because she can't look at his face. "If I stop fighting now...everyone will think I'm weak. That I can't handle it. That I just brag, that it's all pretend...that I'm coasting on my talent, and not working hard...just like...just like what you think…"

"What? Delthea, I don't - "

"I just wanted people…" To Delthea's horror, tears are starting to prick at her eyes, and she tries to force them down, to make them go away. They aren't listening. "I wanted them...to think I was special…"

"Delthea…"

"It's not fair!" Delthea bursts out, and the tears come, angry and burning, falling down her face in big, hot blobs. _"It's not fair!"_

"What isn't fair?" Luthier's voice is calm and mild. Delthea hates it when he gets like this.

"None of it! All of it! I don't know!" Delthea scrubs her face with her hand, and the tears don't stop, fat and stupid and childish and everywhere. Her nose is stuffing up. "I didn't - I didn't want to _kill_ anyone! I just - I just wanted - " She can't stop hiccuping, and Luthier's looking at her like she's a baby, and she _hates_ it. "I wanted you - I wanted everyone - I wanted them to - " Her breath is too fast, and she can't slow it down, and it hurts, it hurts, and Ragnarok is tearing apart soldiers and people and the monsters are bearing down on her and the world blurs and swirls and she can't _breathe_ and it _hurts_ -

Arms enfold her.

"L…" Delthea gasps again. Her throat feels like it's been sealed up, filled with wax.

"I know," Luthier whispers into her hair. "I know. It's okay. I've got you. Just breathe."

Delthea gasps, turning her wet, snotty face into his robes.

"You don't have to hurt anyone anymore if you don't want to," Luthier says quietly. "It's up to you. You don't have to ever use magic again, if you don't want to. I'm sorry. I didn't know it was hurting you."

"But I - want to - use it!" Delthea hiccups. "I just wanna - I wanna be a hero - I wanna be _special_ \- "

"You are special. No matter what you do." Luthier's arms tighten around her, and when even was the last time they hugged? He'd tried to hug her after the fight at the sluice gate, and she'd just pulled away… "I should have told you that more often. I'm proud of you, Delthea. Magic or no magic. You're _you_ even without it."

Delthea gives up on words, and wails, and it is _so_ embarrassing and _so_ babyish and she feels _so stupid_ \- but Luthier doesn't say anything, no scolding, not a word of admonition, just cradles her, and she curls her fingers into his robes and screams into his chest.

Eventually, the world steadies, and Delthea becomes uncomfortably aware that her nose is too stuffed to breathe, and pulls back, gulping for air.

Luthier makes a face. "Eugh." He pulls a handkerchief out of his sleeve and passes it to her. "Wipe, okay?"

Normally she'd have some kind of retort, but she's cried out all her energy, so Delthea just takes the handkerchief and cleans herself up while Luthier looks down at his soaked, snotty robe with an expression of dawning horror. Delthea can't help the little thrill of victory, even though her head is pounding.

Delthea sniffs.

"Better?"

She nods.

"Well...that's good." Luthier swings his arms, looking suddenly awkward again. "Er…"

Delthea wrings the wet handkerchief in her hands. "Did you...mean it?"

Luthier looks surprised. "Mean what?"

"That I don't have to use my magic...if I don't want to? That you're...proud of me?"

"Of course."

Delthea's head droops.

"I've always been proud of you, Delthea. Proud - and scared." Luthier's voice shakes a little. 

"You were scared of me?"

"Not of you - _for_ you. You have so much talent, so much power, you are so much stronger than me - I just wanted to keep you safe. I wanted you to be able to keep yourself safe. People targeted you for your power, and then you took to the battlefield - I didn't mean to make you feel worthless. I just wanted to protect you, even though I knew I wasn't strong enough to. I'm sorry."

Delthea feels her eyes start to well up again. Stupid eyes.

"You're so talented - but you'd be special even if you weren't talented," Luthier continues. "You'll always be special. No matter what you do. Your powers have nothing to do with it."

Delthea rubs the handkerchief across her face. It just makes everything wetter.

She's never heard Luthier admit to being wrong before. And she's _never_ heard him talk like this, hopeful and raw and genuine.

It's _weird._

"You can do whatever you want, now that this is over," Luthier's voice trembles slightly. "If you never use a spell again, never open a tome - I will still be proud of you. I will _always_ be proud of you."

Delthea's voice wobbles. "Promise?"

"Promise."

"...Okay." Delthea lowers her head. "You know...you're not so bad, Lu."

"I try."

"Sorry I was mean," Delthea mumbles. "And, um...you're a good mage too. Even if you can't use Ragnarok. And you're kind of...weird. But you're an okayish brother, I guess."

"Thanks, Delthea. That means a lot." Delthea chances a look at Luthier's face. He's smiling, which is a good sign.

A silence falls in the entrance hall, and it's a little awkward, but it's okay, somehow. Something broken just got fixed, Delthea realizes, and it's still pretty wobbly and needs a lot of work, but the first step's been taken, the foundation laid.

"Come on." Luthier nods his head towards where camp's set up. "Nobody's here, after all. I'm certain there's more of those travel biscuits you like so much among the rations."

Delthea can't help her giggle. "Ooo, _Luthier?_ Suggesting stealing? Pinch me!"

"It's hardly stealing." Luthier shakes his head, but he's still smiling. "Besides, we did just fell a mad god. Some celebration is warranted."

"Wow…" Delthea blinks. "Maybe you really are human after all, bro!"

"Har har." Luthier holds out a hand, and Delthea pretends not to notice it shaking, and takes it, and they walk away together, towards the unattended ration crates.

Maybe, Delthea thinks, just maybe, it really will be all right.


	3. when the bough breaks - sonya, marla, hestia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sonya breaks one promise, and makes another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one does not require reading anything else and stands just fine on its own. But, uh, warning for familial death/parental abuse/etc. It's not a fun fic.

"Father says I'm doing really well in the lessons."

"Does he, now?" Marla lifts an eyebrow.

"Mmhmm!" Sonya turns to face her sisters as she walks down the hall just ahead of them. "Especially wind! I'm gonna be a great mage, just like you two."

"I'm certain you'll be excellent," says Marla. Her eyes are gazing over Sonya's head.

"Marla! Are you listening?"

"Certainly, certainly."

Sonya puffs out her cheeks. "No, you're _not!"_

"Mm?" Marla blinks. "I apologize, darling. My mind was elsewhere."

"You're not listening either, Hestia!" Sonya glares at both of them.

"Sorry, sorry. Got distracted." Hestia ruffles Sonya's hair, but she still has that distant look in her eye. "We'll talk later, okay?"

"Are you keeping a secret?" Sonya demands. "That's rude!"

"Shh, dear. We're nearly there."

"You're not answering my - "

Hestia and Marla are completely ignoring her now. They exchange a glance, and then Marla takes Sonya's hand and Hestia leads the way up the last staircase to the top floor of Duma Tower. That's where they're meeting with Father, like they do every week, so he can check their progress and tell them what they're going to learn the next week. It's the only real time they ever see him, that and during lessons.

Sometimes Father's a little scary. Marla says Sonya must never be alone with Father, only with one of them there. Sonya doesn't know why. Maybe Father scares Marla, too.

"Ah, right on time, my dears." Father turns to face them, his pale skin glowing green in the dim light. "I have a special task for you three today."

"Yes, Father." Marla's voice gets very flat when she's talking with Father. Sonya doesn't know why.

"Today you will become part of a great tradition. A magnificent honor, one you are privileged to be a part of." Father folds his arms behind his back. "Today, you will become one with Duma."

Marla's hand tightens on Sonya's. "That is today, Father? I thought - "

"Since you've all been doing so well in your lessons, I thought I would move up the schedule." Father strokes his chin. "Why delay, when you are already prepared?"

"I see."

"What's going on?" Sonya whispers loudly. "What're we doing?"

"You've heard me talk about it before, haven't you, Sonya?" Father's smile widens. "The ultimate honor for a follower of Duma…"

"Becoming a witch," says Hestia. "You mean for us to become witches."

Sonya's brow furrows. "Witches? Like Miss Anita?"

They all stare at her.

"I gave her a name," says Sonya, shrinking under three gazes. "I know you said she didn't have one, Father, but I thought it would be nice if she did…"

"Yes," says Father finally. "Yes, she is one of them."

"They fly…" Sonya muses. "Flying sounds nice."

Marla's hand gets even tighter on Sonya's. It hurts a little.

"Doesn't it?" Father's smile returns. "Soon you'll get to fly, too."

"I don't know if I want to fly," says Sonya slowly. "Miss Anita looks so sad all the time…"

"I'm certain you'll enjoy it once you give it a try, Sonya." Father's voice is almost a hiss. "It will be a wonderful thing, and I will be so, so proud of you."

"Father." Hestia's face is very white, her lips barely moving. "Might we gather our things before we depart for the ritual?"

"There's no need. It's not a long journey."

"But - "

"Whatever is the matter, my dear? This is going to be a wonderful adventure, isn't it?" Father's smile is wide, too wide, and fear jolts in Sonya's stomach. She clings to Marla's hand.

Marla takes a deep breath. "Very well, Father. We'll go ahead, then."

"I don't think so. We'll all go together." Father holds out a hand to Hestia. "As a family. Won't that be nice?"

"I'll walk with them," says Hestia. "But yes. A family."

Sonya doesn't know why she's scared. But she is, really scared.

"Then let us go," says Father. "No more delay."

"I understand. Come, Sonya." Marla guides her back down the stairs. Sonya's too old for that, but the idea of letting go of Marla's hand is suddenly scary, too scary to even think about, and she clings onto it.

"What's happening?" Sonya whispers as they walk down the stairs, Father right behind them. "I'm scared…"

"It will be all right." Hestia takes Sonya's other hand. "Just...just stay with us, okay? And it will be all right."

"Okay…" Sonya chances a glance over her shoulder. "Why's Father…"

"No more questions, okay?" Marla's gaze is fixed ahead of her. "We must obey Father."

Sonya clamps her mouth shut.

Hestia leans down closer. "I've got a trick, Sonya. Want to see?"

"A trick?"

Hestia grins, winks, and then whirls around and hurls a ball of light magic at the ceiling above them. The staircase explodes.

Marla suddenly breaks into a run, dragging Sonya behind her, nearly tugging her arm from its socket, and it's all Sonya can do to stumble along, her head bent low as if it will somehow protect her from the falling rocks. On her other side, Hestia is running too, laughing, but the laugh is shaky and scary and the crashing of rocks is all Sonya can hear - 

"Jedah was underneath?" Marla gasps as they reach the bottom of the staircase and keep running.

"Yeah. But it's not much," Hestia pants. She's not laughing anymore. "He's too tough. He'll be out in no time - "

"If we can get outside, I can warp myself and Sonya," says Marla grimly as they dash down the fourth floor stairs. "Hopefully it will be far enough…"

"It's something. Just worry about her. I'll be right behind you."

"What's going on?" Sonya manages, a stitch forming in her side as they run along the third floor. "I don't understand - "

"It will be okay," Marla says, her jaw set and grim. "It will be okay...just hold on. Hold on, and keep running."

Sonya doesn't have any breath left to talk as they keep going. Down more stairs…Sonya's head is a whirl of panic and fatigue. There are crashing noises from behind them, and Sonya's too scared to look back.

"He probably sent...most of the guards...to prepare the ritual…" Marla gasps. "But there will be some at the door...he's not fool enough to…"

"We'll take 'em, then," says Hestia, her hand tightening on Sonya's. "Nearly there!"

They almost tumble down the final staircase and plunge towards the only doors leading into Duma Tower. There's two arcanists standing on either side of the door, and they jerk with shock at the sight of the sisters. Hestia shouts and Marla flings out her free hand, and twin balls of Aura hit the men in the chests. They're down before they know what hit them, and a part of Sonya wonders if they're dead.

Hestia rattles the door handle. "No!"

"It's locked?" Marla's mouth falls open. "It can't be! There - there isn't a lock! I checked myself - "

"No lock. Sealed with magic," growls Hestia, slamming the door with both hands. "We could break it, but - "

"But we don't have time." Marla casts a frightened look back at the staircase. "No - no time at all! Hestia!"

"Can you warp?" Hestia asks, turning a grim face to Marla.

"One person." Marla sets her jaw. "If I've got to get through a wall, then I don't have enough for two."

"That'll be enough." Hestia has the same stern expression. "I'll buy you time."

"What's going on?" Sonya cries. "What's happening? I don't understand - "

Marla drops to her knees in front of Sonya, pressing their foreheads together, just as Father comes tearing down the hall. His face is shadowed and twisted, glowing with rage, like a demon, like a monster, the scariest thing Sonya's ever seen in her life.

Hestia steps in front of Marla and Sonya, her hands swirling with purple magic. "Marla! Do it now!"

Marla is mumbling something under her breath. Hestia shouts as her spells clash against Father's, illuminating the hall in shades of violet. 

"I don't understand," Sonya repeats, her eyes stinging as tears well up. "I don't understand - "

"Listen to me." Marla's eyes don't open, her lips barely move. "Listen to me, Sonya. You must run. Run far, far away, and whatever you do, don't look back. Never look back. _Promise me."_

"But what about - "

Hestia screams in pain, and Sonya jerks her head sideways in time to see her sister crumple to the ground. Father kicks her limp form out of the way, advancing on them...

"It will be all right," says Marla, and Sonya looks back at her. Marla's face is blurred by Sonya's tears, but it almost looks like she's smiling. "It will be all right…"

"Marla! Hestia - "

The world disappears.

\---

Sonya opens her eyes.

The night sky is shining overhead. She's lying on something poky. Sonya twists, and whatever it is snags against her robe - 

_It will be all right…_

Sonya's whole frame jerks with the memory, and she drags herself free and jumps to her feet, and blinks.

It's a bush, a prickly one. There's a lot of them growing around Duma Tower, for miles around…

_Don't touch the thorns, dear._

"...Marla?" Sonya whispers, hugging herself. "Hestia?"

There's no answer.

Sonya looks around. It's dark out, darker than it was when they were climbing the tower together, a lifetime ago…

Sonya squints. The unmistakable, jagged shape of Duma Tower sticks up in the distance. She's maybe half a mile away from it.

Marla and Hestia are in trouble, Sonya thinks to herself as she clenches her fists. Father's going to hurt them, turn them into witches, and that's very bad, and her sisters didn't want it to happen, and that's why they disobeyed, why Hestia blew up the staircase and they ran away…

Sonya needs to help them. She needs to save them! She has magic too. She can help!

Memory jolts again, and Sonya freezes.

_Listen to me, Sonya. You must run. Run far, far away, and whatever you do, don't look back._

Marla wanted her to run. That's why they got caught, protecting her...Sonya looks in the other direction, away from Duma Tower. There's villages there, like the one they grew up in. She could find one and blend right in…

But…she can't leave her sisters. She can't.

_Promise me._

Sonya hadn't actually promised, had she? So it wasn't breaking the promise, not really. Besides, Marla always told her to do the right thing. Saving them is the right thing, definitely.

Sonya grits her teeth together and marches back towards Duma Tower.

It's a longish walk, the moon completely high in the sky by the time Sonya makes it there. The door opens when she pushes against it. The seal must not be there anymore, then.

There's blood on the floor when Sonya steps inside. Not a lot, but enough that Sonya can see it, and it's still wet, and smeared around. Sonya's eyes follow it, a trail of drops and smears that lead to…

A staircase. The one leading to the basement, where Sonya had been told she'd be allowed to go when she was a better mage, higher in the Faith. That's where Marla and Hestia are.

She'll save them, she will. And they'll all go home together.

Sonya takes a deep breath and climbs down the stairs.

\---

The tunnels are twisted and confusing. Sonya makes a little ball of fire, the way Hestia taught her, and it hovers over her head as she makes her way down through them. It'd be easy to get lost, but there's footprints in the loose earth and blood, too. Sonya follows the trail, her fire flickering from nerves.

It takes hours, probably. Sonya loses track. But then she hears a voice.

"...ritual is ready, Master."

"Excellent." That's Father's voice! Sonya flattens herself against the wall, inching forward. The voice is coming from inside a chamber, a level below her. But if she creeps along forward on her knees, then there's a little hole in the floor, which is the ceiling of the chamber below. If Sonya presses her eye to it…

She can just barely make out a stone altar, and the hunchbacked shape of her father standing next to it. Sonya squints, trying to see more. Jedah moves, and then a figure is dragged into Sonya's view, one she can't quite make out...

"You get to go first," says Jedah. "I can't have you bleeding out before the ritual is complete, after all."

Fear claws at Sonya's throat. Hestia has blood trickling down her face, and a big splotch of it on her stomach. Her hands are tied together, and Jedah puts a knee against her neck, shoving her head down onto the altar.

"Don't!" Sonya can't see Marla, but she would recognize her voice anywhere, even as high and cracked with terror as it is now. "Don't - please! Take me instead! I'll do it willingly, I'll do whatever you want! Just let her go!"

"You think I'll listen to another word you say after that little stunt you pulled?" Jedah barks. "You've lost me a powerful sacrifice! Luckily, that runt had the least potential of the three of you...so I'll let the little fish go if it keeps me a stronger hold on the bigger ones."

Hestia makes a ragged noise, and Sonya realizes it's a laugh, one choked by blood. "Listen to you...making excuses. Just admit it...we outdid you."

"Bravado won't be any help where you're going, dear daughter," says Jedah, bending over her. "Be honored. You will make a fine vessel for Duma...and grant me unimaginable power."

"You'll rot in hell one day, Jedah," Hestia says, still giggling. "You will...and I'll be happy to see you there. One day...one day, Duma won't be there to save you…"

"Enough!" Jedah snaps. "Lord Duma...I present to you an offering! The soul of this woman...I offer it willingly! It is yours!"

"Hestia!" Marla shrieks. "No!"

The air of the chamber below fills with bloodred fire, and Sonya is forced to slam her eyes shut. She doesn't see what happens next...but she hears it. The scream is a noise she's never heard Hestia make before, ragged and broken and horrible and it goes on forever, burrowing into Sonya's bones and turning her blood into ice…

...and when it stops, it's several seconds before Sonya can force herself to open her eyes again. Hestia is still kneeling, but Jedah steps back, and then Hestia floats up into the air. Her skin is...cold-looking, almost blue, and the ropes fall from her hands as if they are nothing at all, and as she turns her head, Sonya gets a glimpse of her sister's eyes.

Empty, and black. Sonya can't possibly feel more afraid than she does, but her stomach gives a dull lurch.

"No…" Marla's sobbing fills the air. "Hestia…"

"Why do you weep, sister?" The voice is Hestia's, and not at all. "I have achieved...perfection. I have become Duma's, and something so much greater. Join me...just join me, and the pain will end…"

"Why…" Marla gulps. "Why are you doing this? For power? Is that all we are worth to you?"

"How could anything be worth more?" Jedah laughs, high and cruel. That laugh will haunt Sonya until her dying days. "What an inflated sense of your own importance you have. Now, your turn."

Hestia - no, not Hestia, it isn't Hestia, just the shell of Hestia, something fake living in her skin - floats away from the altar, and Sonya can see the form of Marla being dragged to take her place, her head forced against the stone. Marla's hair has fallen loose, tumbling in curls around her shoulders. Sonya can't see her face, but she can see her sister's body shaking.

Sonya has to do something. She has to save her!

She can't. She can't beat Jedah. Not all by herself, not all alone…

Jedah's voice cuts through her thoughts. "Lord Duma...I present to you an offering! The soul of this woman...I offer it willingly, as a token of our sacred covenant! It is yours! Take it unto you, and feast!"

Marla's scream is just like Hestia's - ragged, broken, going on and on forever, and Sonya watches, watches the flame tear her sister apart, hears Jedah's laughter ringing on and on and on - 

Sonya scoots backwards away from the hole, but she still catches a glimpse of Marla's face as she lowers her head, and her eyes opening, and they are as black and hollow as Hestia's were. Sonya curls up into a ball, tucking her knees against her chest. She should cry, probably, but she can't. Horror has frozen her tears. Voices are still echoing up from the cavern below, and she can't hear them.

What can she do? Nothing, nothing at all. Wind spells won't beat Jedah, no matter how good they are. Nothing will. And her sisters are witches, like Miss Anita, and there's nothing she can do to help, nothing, nothing at all.

_Never look back. Promise me._

That's what they wanted her to do. But Sonya can't make that promise. She can't just let them go. But she can't do anything, anything at all…

No. There is something. There will be something.

_Run far, far away…_

Run. Sonya's hands curl into fists, and she pulls herself up on shaking legs.

She can run. She can live. And one day...one day she'll be the best mage of all. And even if she can't save her sisters...she can stop Jedah. And he'll never make another witch again.

He hurt her sisters. He has to pay. Sonya's fists tighten, and the wind picks up around her. She sets her jaw, and turns, and runs, back along the blood trail, back towards the empty Duma Tower, and a promise tattoos itself against her heart as she runs.

_One day, I'll be back._

_One day, I'll save you both._

_One day, I'll kill him._

_One day, I will._

_That's my promise._

_And I will keep it._


	4. carnelian - saber, bryony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brother grieves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this one really shouldn't be read without reading "Phoenixflame" first, or it's not going to make any sense haha...warning for familial death.

The sky above them was gray, and dull. Rain splashed heavy onto and through Conrad's hood, too much to be stopped by the thick fabric. Stray trails trickled down his face, forming puddles on his shoulders. The splash of wheels bumping through puddles and the soft clump of the horse's hooves against rain-softened earth were the only sounds as the old wooden cart tumbled along the worn path. Across from Conrad, Lady Bryony half-lay on one of the sacks in the cart, eyes closed, tucked beneath her own cloak.

"It so rarely rains here anymore," said the cart driver brightly, obviously trying to fill the heavy silence. "Must be good luck."

"I did not pay you to talk, good sir." Bryony did not even open her eyes, much less move from her slumped position, but her tone sent shivers down Conrad's spine and made the driver sit up ramrod-straight.

"Yes, madam! By your leave, madam!" The cart driver didn't speak another word.

They squelched along the muddy road in silence a few moments longer. Conrad closed his eyes - no, his _eye._

His face still hurt, but he was growing numb to the pain. What did it matter? It didn't hurt half as much as his heart, and he didn't think that would ever stop hurting. A soppy, useless sentiment, one his mother would never approve of, but it was true.

Conrad didn't even remember sustaining the injury. He remembered nothing clear, just sensations and sounds - pain, and screaming, a scream too desperate for words - his own screaming, his throat still raw from the force of it even now. His mother, shouting at him. Fire, bright and burning. They'd made it through the basement door and emerged into the night air, and only meters away, the flames were reaching into the sky, and he'd known it but wouldn't admit it, fighting against his mother's hold, trying desperately to go back, because maybe, just _maybe_ \- and the flames reached as high as a mountain into the sky, the roof crumbled and caved in, giving way entirely - 

Conrad pushed back against the memories. He didn't want them. Didn't need them. They changed nothing. But they came anyway, bright and burning.

Anthiese, laughing and alive, only hours before. Anthiese, bright and intelligent and better, so much better, than he could have ever hoped to be.

Anthiese, alone in the fire. Scared. Dying. A horrible way to go. He could only pray she'd choked on the smoke, been taken by blessed unconsciousness before the flames reached her.

That was the most he could hope for.

Bryony made a soft noise as they hit a bump in the path, and Conrad's eye flew open. "Mother?"

"I am fine," Bryony mumbled, the wince on her face disappearing as quickly as it had appeared, and Conrad doubted whether he'd even seen it at all. "No need for fuss."

Conrad fiddled with the hem of his cloak. "Mother…"

Bryony didn't answer, and Conrad had to squint to see the rise and fall of her chest. But it was still there, and he relaxed somewhat at the sight.

\---

"She's dead." Bryony's voice had been low, but the force in her tone had cut through even the screams and the crackle of flame in front of them. "Anthiese is dead, and if you go back in there, you will be too."

Conrad gave in, fell to his knees and wailed even though he was ten years too old for that kind of thing, and Bryony knelt in front of him. He braced for a scolding, despite being beyond caring. But it didn't come, and instead his mother had wrapped her arms around him, and hugged him like she hadn't since he was small. He cried into her shoulder, clinging onto her, and there wasn't a word of shame spoken.

Just the two of them, huddled in the woods behind what had once been the royal villa. Alone in the smoke.

Something wet seeped into his dressing gown, and Conrad pulled back and looked down. "Mother - you're bleeding - "

"Merely a scratch," Bryony said, getting to her feet. "Now, we must go. If we're found, we'll die like the rest. Come."

"But…"

"You'll live, boy." Bryony's voice sharpened. "You are not allowed to die. I will not allow you to die."

"I don't want to..." Conrad mumbled.

"Don't want to what? Speak up."

"Don't want to live."

"Never let me hear you speak those words again, child." Bryony glared into his eye, brown into brown. "You will not throw your life away. That is not what Anthiese would desire, is it? Nor is it...what I desire. No matter what happens, you must live."

"Mother…"

"Let's go." Bryony tugged him to his feet. "I've stopped the bleeding from your eye, but you need more serious treatment. We need to change clothes, and we need to blend in. We'll stick out dressed in these rags."

Conrad staggered after her. "Where are we going?"

"It's not safe here. It's not safe anywhere." Bryony's face was pinched and stern as she dragged him through the trees. "Save one place, perhaps. It will be a dangerous road, but we have no other choice. It's time you met your grandfather, boy."

\---

Conrad curled his fingers into the ragged hem of his cloak. "Mother?"

Bryony's sigh made her chest shake. "What is it now?"

"Thank you."

"Whatever for?"

"For everything."

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about, boy." The cart bumped over a pothole. "Get some rest. We'll be there soon."

Conrad tilted his head up, letting droplets roll across his face. "Okay."

The rain poured down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it any wonder Celica has some emotional constipation issues after being raised by these two, or…


End file.
